


no such thing

by magpirate



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Old Gods, a little is an understatement, pandaren priest, someone's a little crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpirate/pseuds/magpirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was always taught to seek her own peace and harmony through the meditation. And yet, the silence brings too much along with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no such thing

**Author's Note:**

> leave it to me to take the fun-loving, food-loving, friendly drunkard race that is the pandaren and make myself a psychopath. this is totally normal, honest.

Meditation was difficult.

She could hear the other Pandaren around her, a crowd that breathed in silence in their own quiet corners, allowing themselves peace in a world that had long since been covered in destruction and riddled with hate and slaughter. 

Azhai Spiritweaver sat among them, still as a statue, her eyes closed and her posture rigid. She looked to be carved from stone, dirty and worn as she was. The satin of her robe hang off of her scrawny form, and the white of it made her look like a ghost. Her brown-and-red fur was dirty and matted, and she knew that more than a few others were giving her glances simply because she was a mess. She did not belong here, in this place of peace and harmony.

The Pandaren inhaled slowly, felt her tail curl around her side and tuck against her body, and exhaled quietly through her mouth.

Meditate, she told herself. Master Shang Xi always told her that meditation was the path to inner peace, and only that could strengthen her powers. Her healing would grow stronger with her own harmony, and the holy light that flowed through her would bring life to the lands and people alike. Her lips twitched into something of a smile at the memory, and she bowed her head forward a bit more.

The Pandaren around her ask too many questions. Are you well? They would ask her. You're little more than bones and skin, poor dear, you must come in and eat with us. She would decline, politely, keep the condescension from her tone, and hurry away as quickly as she could. Her body was worn. Her body was tired. She was tired, enveloped in shadows as she was, too busy with her travels and training and meditating. Or perhaps her body only reflected the rot of her mind, the fracturing and decaying that came with--

"They are coming for you." Her thoughts are cut off by a low whisper in the back of her mind. Bright green eyes snap open in sudden fright, and she feels her heart racing in her ears. Control yourself, she says, her hands curling into fists in her lap as she smooths out her ragged breathing. Calm yourself. Control yourself. You're only hearing things.

The priestess closes her eyes again and seeks comfort in the soft chirping of the birds above, the soft laughter of the Pandaren dining together and drinking together in the tavern not far from here. It was custom for them, to meditate and train, then drink themselves into stupors before laughing their way home.

Azhai does not allow herself to focus on these. She rests again, her posture rigid though her hands relax. She inhales slowly and exhales at the same, careful pace, focusing. Peace, she thinks. Relax and seek your own peace.

"They have turned against you." The voice breaks through her thoughts again, but this time, her eyes do not open. "Take your revenge." Her companions are not close by, not tonight. She had sought time on her own, and they had been merciful enough to give it to her. The warmth of the light she had sought this morning, however, seems to be ebbing away from her with each soft whisper of the voice.

A lump forms in her throat. The voice in her head is not her own. It is familiar, however, and she knows it well. The voice of a stranger that embraced her on the Wandering Isle, the voice of a stranger who led her to power unimaginable. The voice of a stranger who had been with her since she had nearly wandered off the back of Shen-zin Su.

"Kill them all. Before they kill you." It is not an aggressive voice. It is a calm, comforting tone, soothing in it's speech and nearly affectionate in it's insistance. Her breathing grows ragged again, and this time, she struggles to even it out. Peace, she tells herself. Breathe. There is nothing to fear. It is only your imagination, being far too active. Telling you too much.

Her eyes stay shut, painfully tight. Her hands clench into fists at her side. The darkness seems to grow darker, deeper, and she feels as if hands clench at her body, her fur, her clothing, her flesh.

"Look around. They will all betray you."

Peace, she insists. Calm yourself. There is nothing there.

The shadowy voice lingers now, not the silence she had known during her meditation. Just out of reach of her mind's hearing, just too far away to know. Murmured whispers, empty whispers, a fog rolling in across her head. A shiver runs down her spine, and she opens her eyes slowly. The shadows look too long, too deep. As if she could simply fall into them, to let the darkness envelop her, empower her, give her strength she had never known before--

The sun is setting.

Azhai tilts her head as she stands, looking towards the light and hearing the chirping of birds. It all seems distant to her, far away and empty. Distant and meaningless, as fading mist on the horizon. The laughter behind her is empty, white noise as her ears ring.

"You will be alone in the end."

The Pandaren woman stands still, and the soft breeze of the coming night blows at her white robes, leaving her scrawny frame shivering. She shakes her head and bites her tongue, brushing dark hair out of her face. The shadows call to her, urge her on. What nonsense it is.

Meditation, she thinks. Seek your own peace.

Tilting her head, she looks towards the tavern. The lightest of smiles crosses her features. Seek your own peace. Bring them their own peace, perhaps. Her green eyes flicker like a dying flame, and the cold that embraces her now does not seem quite so frightening. She turns around and exhales slowly before stepping nearer.

The silent night is not one she favors.


End file.
